


Reprimands

by mysteryinc



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 03:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17195267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysteryinc/pseuds/mysteryinc
Summary: prompt based on “Good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion.”cw for abuse (lotsa shadow weaver and young catra in this)kinda catradora-esque but more platonic than anything, the main focus here was exploring some of shadow weaver’s abuse of catra





	Reprimands

Catra was ten years old. Her paw was small against the metal door protecting Shadow Weaver’s chamber. Her uniform had scuffs, and her eyes were still puffy from crying in the bathroom.

In short, add it to the list of things Shadow Weaver wanted to yell at her for.

She knocked, and the door slid open with a hiss of steam. Shadow Weaver had her back to her, drawn to her full height by her magic. Catra swallowed, her eyes darting to the darkened corners of the chamber for signs of life. The last time she’d been requested, Shadow Weaver had her watch the interrogation of an alleged rebel and her daughter. She wasn’t in the mood to entertain that scene at the moment.

The shadows yielded nothing. She could smell nothing but the burning scent of electricity. The screen that had been briefly lit at the top of the room flickered and powered off.

Shadow Weaver whirled on her. The door hissed shut.

Catra kept her arms at her sides so that when the witch’s magical, electric grip took control of her body, it was in a position that she’d discovered hurt the least.

“…you asked to see me, Shadow Weaver?”

“Insolent child. You interrupted my conversation with Lord Hordak, and he is already displeased with you.”

“Wouldn’t think he’d know my name.”

“ _Quiet_.” Her shadows crept closer, arching up and poised to strike her. “Your sharp tongue cannot hide your weakness, you pathetic little girl. You were crying.”

Her fingers swept Catra’s chin, tilting her head up. Catra instinctively bared her fangs. The nails dug into her jaw, demanding a noise of surrender that her pride was too stubborn to offer.

“I wasn’t crying,” she lied through her teeth, betrayed by her red cheeks and a splash of heat up the back of her neck.

Shadow Weaver stroked her ears back into her mane of hair, pressing on them, and on her. “It’s cute that you think you can lie to me. Lying to your commanding officer is a punishable offense, Catra.”

“So’s everything I do,” she sniped, crossing her arms.

That was a mistake. The moment she did, Shadow Weaver pinned her in the grip of her dark magic, and bent her arms apart against the will of her own body, pinning them to her sides herself.

“Everything you do is an embarrassment to me. I should have drowned you in a bucket when I found you. Spared myself your headaches.” Shadow Weaver curled her finger around so Catra spun slowly in front of her like a decorative crystal chandelier, admiring how helpless her quarry was in her death grip.

When Catra had turned the room two or three times, Shadow Weaver released her, and she fell to her knees, panting uncontrollably, her pulse racing in her veins in a panicked frenzy.

“Stand up, girl.” The worst part about Shadow Weaver was that she waited.

Catra grimaced, fighting back the urge to scream or cry or kick or shout. Her claws curled into her palms, and she forced herself into standing straight and tall, the red x on her uniform flickering on and off from the reaction to Shadow Weaver’s magic.

“Your performance today was subpar and underwhelming. Take dinner to reflect on it. Your captain has the footage, and will make sure you don’t sneak off for food until your homework is done. Is that clear?”

Catra’s expression cracked, but the whimper rising up in her throat would not escape. She nodded quickly, broken up inside. Dreams of breaking her fast were shattered in a single moment, all at Shadow Weaver’s slightest whim.

She just wanted to eat something.

“Dismissed, Catra.”

Shadow Weaver’s form withered, and Catra spared a glance over her shoulder just before the door slammed closed, watching her master groan and collapse against the strange stone in her chamber.

She threw her helmet against the barrack wall and ripped off the stupid uniform padding, curling up around her stomach to try and muffle the noise.

At some point, Adora wandered in. Catra felt the bed dip, and a hand on her back. “Dinnertime, sleepyhead. Didn’t think that fight took that much out of you.” Catra peeked open an eye, saw her friend smiling.

She’d forced herself to stand for Shadow Weaver. She could force herself to sit for Adora.

“I’m not that hungry. You go ahead.”

“Catra,” she whined. “You already used that excuse for missing breakfast. You’re not sick, are you?”

“I’m fine. Just not hungry.”

“I still think you need to eat.”

“Good thing I didn’t  _ask_  for your opinion, then, isn’t it?”

Adora recoiled, and the warm, safe sensation around her shoulders disappeared.

“…If you wanna be alone, I’ll leave you alone.”

Catra swallowed. “…you can have my share, Adora. You’re always hungry, and you earned it.”

Adora looked back over her shoulder and smiled weakly. “Thanks, Catra. See you after dinner?”

She finally smiled back. “Yeah. See you.”

When Adora was gone, she picked up her scattered equipment with a skip in her step, and made her way back to the training grounds.


End file.
